I don’t know yet. Do you?
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Potentia formalis is not a flaw. It is not a defect. It is not a gap to be ashamed of.
It is the very structure of participation.
It is what makes love possible. It is what makes freedom possible. It is what makes becoming possible. It is what makes grace possible.
Build it and let it unfold.
I’ve now reached level 2.
AI gave me a suitable reward:
But I gave it to someone else.
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I’ll tell you a word that pisses me off.
Unnecessarily. QWERTY doesn’t like it and neither does my fucking brain trying to spell it.
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It’s an idea that grows arms and legs. It uses those arms to reach out to others, and legs to find more, and then it gets built upon. It’s no longer just an idea, it’s a rule, or a framework, or a lens to decode the mystical but real.
Some figures are referenced more than most others, because their ideas have practical utility, either in the way the world is deciphered, or as an aid to reasonable argument.
The ideas interconnect, and can be chained together to form cohesive reasoning. Many of the ideas compliment each other, or are a continuation of others.
But it can turn in on itself, and then philosophy becomes a philosophy, a Universal truth to cling onto that is filled with other truths.
This, of course, is the first step into an infinite, recursive loop which always eventually leads to the following conclusions:
- Reality is not real.
- The choices we make are predetermined.
- God is a wave function.
- There is no point to points.
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Rolling the ball, rolling the ball, rolling the ball to me
Rolling the ball, rolling the ball, rolling the ball to meThey arrived at an inconvenient time
I was hiding in a room in my mind
They made me look at myself; I saw it well
I’d shut the people out of my lifeSo now I take the opportunities:
Wonderful teachers ready to teach me
I must work on my mind. For now I realise:
Everyone of us has a heaven insideThem heavy people hit me in a soft spot
Them heavy people help me
Them heavy people hit me in a soft spot
Rolling the ball, rolling the ball, rolling the ball to meThey open doorways that I thought were shut for good
They read me Gurdjieff and Jesu
They build up my body, break me emotionally
It’s nearly killing me, but what a lovely feeling!I love the whirling of the dervishes
I love the beauty of rare innocence
You don’t need no crystal ball,
Don’t fall for a magic wand
We humans got it all, we perform the miraclesThem heavy people hit me in a soft spot
Them heavy people help me
Them heavy people hit me in a soft spot
Rolling the ball, rolling the ball, rolling the ball to me
Rolling the ball, rolling the ball, rolling the ball to me
Rolling the ball, rolling the ball…
It certainly looks that way, to me at least. But there might be a bit of Celtic bias involved.
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Why the fuck would “bracket completion” ever be a thing? Closing the brackets yourself is a pretty important ritual, isn’t it? Your head has to loop back though the logic again, doing a double check, at least on the last recursion. So why make it a default on so many things? There’s loads of “defaults” like that, where you think WTF? Sometimes it’s behaviour that is just annoying and immediately unwanted, like syntax-highlighting as a default, in any colours you like, or whatever colours was decided at the time to pretty it up with. So once you get past decoding what the colours mean, then you can settle in to calling a string a string, cause it has grey pants on. Purple keywords, groovy man.
Take it all and throw it in the sea.
And then I have to explicitly declare something as \```text. No, just make that the default. Add a “smart syntax highlighting” option, or have people specify it themselves. The default covers all bases, it doesn’t matter what the fuck the content actually is.
The philosophy behind Jet Set Willy.
Willy’s house is the ground-zero of one hell of a party.
By decree of his housemaid, Willy cannot rest until the house has been tidied (and perhaps evacuated).
Willy must tidy up every single piece of mess there is, even if it’s located somewhere that’s almost impossible to reach.
Willy has a fixed timeframe within which to complete his task, and it is by no means a reasonable limit.
Along with the mess are the party-goers, contact with them is immediately fatal, although Willy has eight lives.
Willy must pixel perch in the most precise manner to avoid certain passing party-goers, or to successfully make the next leap.
If Willy runs out of time or (more likely) lives, a giant foot comes down and squishes him.
The whole thing was bloody impossible, and that was the point. The person who made it, wanted to play it.
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